Boy Licker
by somatogenic
Summary: House gets... possessive. To say the least. H/W set during season 3.


**AUTHOR: **misstressmax (lj)/ somatogenic This is an inside joke distorted by Slash Vision Glasses™ (simular to Rose Tinted Glasses™ but much more pervy) too much lactose, pringles, crack! art/fanfiction, it being 3 flipping am, and angst about House show as usual. Needless to say (yet I'll say it anyway) it is un-BETAed at my sheer joy at writing something other than homework. _Written during season 3 from House's POV._

He heard it, barely noticeable, a near decibel almost out of hearing, _but it was there_. The sound of _laughter_.

Now, this wasn't the _ordinary_ kind of laughter, because, otherwise House wouldn't have cared. But _oh no_, _god forbid_, it was **flirtatious laughter**.

See? _See_ the reason for concern?!

Because it was even just _one_ voice! NO! It had to be_ two_. _Two_ sickeningly sweet, perfect, flirtatious voices rising in volume by the second. A pretty, lilting female one and Wilson's own deep chuckle. The kind you only see on commercials about viagra or family planning videos. Yeah, it was **that bad**.

Now, House considered himself a reasonable man, not one prone to impulsive behavior, or rash decisions. But this took the cake. Hell,_ it took the fucking bakery_.

He** tried **to sit still and take it. Honestly! _Tried_ to ignore some _bitch_ trying to steal his man, but, you know, sometimes these things have a way of, well, 'hitting him the wrong way'.

So, he stormed into Wilson's office without a second thought and threw open the door with a dramatic flare that Hamlet would have been proud of (maybe he was more of a flamer than he thought, he mused, as he made this comparison. After all, what straight guy compares himself to a such pussy ass classic lit character).

The scene was as horrid as he imagined it.

Wilson was not only laughing flirtatiously, _but had good reason to do so_! Not that he could blame him, as he took in a quick study of the woman before him. Blonde, sparkling brown eyes, _huge_ tits. But this was beside the point.

Both occupants of the room froze as he made his appearance, laughter choking in their throats in an instant. He said nothing, but stared hard at the two of them, silent, and let the moment pass. And how it passed.

In that silence, that _deliciously_ awkward silence, you could almost see the guilt piling up on the two of them, like snowdrifts. Soon, they were heaped in it, their former gay (ha) selves lost under the pile, shapes barely visible beneath the mound of shame.

House saw, out of the corner of his left eye, that the Blonde was about to open her mouth, and he made his move with absurd speed for one with only a singular fully functional leg.

In one swift movement, he flew across the room to Wilson side, got obscenely close to his fellow doctor's face, and _**licked him.**_

A stunned silence followed this action, and House swelled with pride as every passing minute made Blonde look more and more uncomfortable, and Wilson increasingly redder. As soon as his partner perfectly resembled a tomato and Blonde looked as if she'd caught her parents having kinky sex with a band of midget gypsies whilst being suspending upside down in handcuffs above a shark tank, he said one, singular, and compleatly unnecessary (but just to make this _whole_ situation _totally_ clear and understood to all parties concerned):

"_**Mine".**_

And, with that, he walked out and back to his own office, humming a snatch of a long forgotten tune, and in the back of his brilliant mind he registered it as "As Time Goes By" from Casablanca. However, Wilson was _not _going to let him escape so smoothly.

"What _was_ that?!" he demanded, and House was sure he could hear his lover's hands being set oh-so firmly on those lovely hipbones of his. House kept walking without bothering to turn around.

"I thought I made that obvious," he said, mockingly casual, while Wilson _fumed_ in the background. He stomped behind him to catch up.

"I thought we weren't going to make- you know- _public_," he said, losing his bite but not the steam of the statement.

"I thought we were exclusive," House shot back, and couldn't resist looking out of the corner of one eye to see his masterpiece.

He was devastated. Shocked into silence. Bewildered into beguiled. Astounded into-

Before he could think of anymore alliterations, Wilson spoke, as soft and monotonously as a patient given his death warrant:

"You… think I would _cheat_ on you?"

"Well history does tend to repeat it's self".

There was a hush among that busy corridor, as if a bubble had placed it's self around them and their drama, a world with in a world. House scratched the back of his neck; he wasn't used to this overwhelming feeling in his gut telling him he'd taken things a step too far. Wilson _loves_ him, he _knows_ this, but, sometimes- and here he let himself take a look at the man behind him, as beautiful, tragic, and still as a Greek statue- while he _knows_ things are different this time around, _knows_ that this thing between them is the real deal, he couldn't help but wonder sometimes, because what he also knows is was what _he_ is: a darkly comic, sarcastic, wilted man past his prime whose only real virtue is that he is _sincere_ and he **also**_knows_ how ridiculous and unlovable he is, _especially_ when compared to that hot piece of ass who had now just fled Wilson's office, and he was considering just taking the whole five fucking years back and just-

Wilson's smile is the most comforting, amazing thing in **all **the world and it doesn't fail him now as it beams upon him like sun to a man trapped in a cave all his life.

"It's okay," he chuckles, and bestows a boy-ish, lovingly dimpled sideways smirk, "I'm not going to leave you".

"Hmph," House snorts, and turns back around, walking back to his office with nary trace of a limp. Wilson chuckles again, and House knows and remembers how that same, appreciative noise sounds oh so much better when against his chest but doesn't say anything more as they part their ways.

They'll meet up again later, after work, outside the building, and then they'll drive back home together in the Volvo. Next, Wilson will make dinner while House tides up around the place and checks his e-mail, and they'll dine together, maybe watch TV. Around 10-ish, they'll lay in bed together, reading, until it's time for lights out. Finally, they'll sleep together, sex or no, and just rejoice in their _being _together.

This House knows, and marvels that he could have ever doubted it, but even so, he'll be sure to put a few extra hickies in _much__ less_ conspicuous places than usual tonight, just to make sure.


End file.
